


The Witch

by evilchewbacca



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Banter, F/F, Future Fic, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25742101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilchewbacca/pseuds/evilchewbacca
Summary: Morgana the Witch. Morgana the Traitor. Morgana the Devil’s Spawn.How unfair of them to judge her, they did not know her. They’ve never met her. Nor had she done any harm to these individuals.
Relationships: Morgana | Igraine/Nimue (Cursed)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	The Witch

**Author's Note:**

> I write drabbles and don't bother to check on them or edit them really, so apologies in advance!  
> I shift between passive and present voice, so sorry. I did it without realizing it.

Every step within the walls of Britannia feels heavy and too daunting a task. The whispers follow her where she goes, though they may not recognize her as the subject of their ire. Sometimes they need not bring the whispers into existence through words. But the ideas exist anyway. She could feel every thought they have.

_Morgana the Witch. Morgana the Traitor. Morgana the Devil’s Spawn._

How unfair of them to judge her, they did not know her. They’ve never met her. Nor had she done any harm to these individuals. Well… not truly each individual, some she had. But even so, what right do they have to pass judgment on someone who they do not know, with the vehemence they do. Though their lack of experience with her in person did not mean the words are wrong if she were honest in all sincerity.

For since Celia’s final parting from the world of the living, she has since grown powerful in the magical arts. The words of the Cailleach were proven the truth, the only truth spoken through her false promises in an effort to seek the sword of power.

She too has betrayed. Many in fact. Friends, her kingdom, and above all her own blood. Her reasons sometimes known to her, other times as unclear to her as they are to the people of Britannia.

And finally, she too is a fighter for darkness. For so long ago, in her attempt to save Nimue. She sold her soul to Death and his many compulsions. Her nature as a Widow, a great mystery to her. It was much easier once she was newly reborn as this creature to maintain to her true nature, her human nature. But as time has passed and Arthur’s reign has aged. And his ascent to greatness has made great strides. So too has her descent.

Perhaps that was why she feels it so deeply whenever their thoughts towards her existence come in bursts from their auras around her. The truth of it chokes her. Making it so difficult to breathe. For the wounds, she inflicts on all those she has grown close to, all those she loved, have begun to grow on her soul and heart or at least what was left of them. For with each action against Britannia and her brother, she had severed whatever fragile rope had held them together. And left her without their love.

Perhaps it was the desire to feel the love that pushed herself to travel amongst a village already so prejudiced against her. For it was the only way to get to _her_ and her home in the lake. _She_ was the only one left who understood her and maybe even loved her even. If she must endure this torture for what little slice of light and warmth she still got from meeting her, she would gladly. For years if she must. But it was a great relief that it was never more than an hour.

And she felt close to excitement whenever she reached the edge of the water, just as she did now. She toed the line between the grass supporting her weight and the water shining bright and alluring, feeling every bit like Nimue.

“You came?” a soft voice spoke up in her mind.

She could swear Nimue would hear the smile in her voice as soon as she opened her mouth to respond. “Yes,” she stated audibly. Already feeling a warmth run through her at Nimue’s voice in her mind.

With that, the water in front of her began to ripple as if the water was disturbed by something physical. Anyone with no knowledge of who this lake was home to would-be disturbed and frightened at the idea. But for Morgana, it was the sign of the reappearance of the one face she longed to see. First came the ripples, then the rise of a brown-haired head with a smile in her gaze and inquisitive arch in her brow. Then her torso followed and finally, she too rose almost to her height, knees deep still in the water but just at the very edge of the water, yet still within it. Never away from the water. For she couldn’t if she wanted to. But for Morgana, she always came very as close as she could to it, and that, to Morgana, had meant everything.

“I wasn’t sure you would,” she responded facetiously.

“Yes, you were.” She was sure the smile made itself known, all fully realized on her face. “You know that there truly is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Even so, I thought I would be very low on your list of priorities. You know, with you constantly waging a war on the kingdom and your brother and with me having to step in where I can to stop it all,” she teased.

Enemies were what they had to be in this battle sometimes, for even when her mind and heart knew that Arthur was good for Britannia and Destiny’s golden child, she couldn’t stop the pull. She couldn’t stop herself when she began to tiptoe the line between clarity and depravity, her nature as a Widow would not allow her to. And Nimue was devoted to protecting her first love and allowing him to complete his Destiny. A devotion and love that remained in her, just as it did in herself for Celia. But even with this goal pushing them to opposite sides, she always welcomed her here away from prying eyes.

She always saw the Morgana behind the Witch. She had made her lake Morgana’s sanctuary where there was peace. Peace and…

“I make time where I can for things I must do. People I need to see. Things I desire to do,” she began to speak as she finally broke the distance between them stepping closer, into the water. For she never feared drowning when Nimue was there. No, Nimue was her tether. She kept her as close to sanity as she could.

“So what am I to you: a chore, a necessity, or a desire?” Nimue asked, her beautiful light laugh tingling in her ears. Her breath hitting Morgana’s face as she moved closer, ever so slowly. Cautious almost, as if her movements would scare off a beautiful gazelle with her deep sense of urgency if she were the hunter.

Morgana felt her smile widen more so, she felt her face would break for truly a face was never made to contain such happiness. “Why you’re all of them, my love.”

Nimue faked a shocked gasp and continued in false outrage, “A chore? How can I ever be a chore?”

“You are not the chore itself, but rather the trek to get to you… it’s simply unbearable.” She too joined in Nimue’s jest, all her remarks exaggerated.

Her love’s response was an overly sympathetic nod. “Then we must make it so you must bear it no longer.”

“How will we make it so?” Morgana questioned. She had stopped moving to Nimue, for she always let Nimue dictate her limits, giving her the power. It was a big act on her part, for many could say that power was all Morgana ever seemed to love and devote herself to for the last couple of years.

Nimue though still keeping to the jest, began to fill the rest of the very few steps left to get to Morgana, “Well. There is no other choice. You must stay here with me, forever.”

At this Morgana’s smile softened but didn’t disappear, and she spoke sadly, “I’m afraid that can’t be. Not yet.” The dark forces would not stop influencing her until their will be done, whatever that will may be. And she had no way to know once it was completed.

Nearly nose to nose with each other, Nimue dropped the pretense and still softly gazing at Morgana as if she were magic itself, she said: “Then if we can’t have forever, we will have right now.” With that Nimue’s hands moved, one to grasp Morgana’s arm, the other to caress her face. And pull her closer to leave a light kiss upon her lips.

Morgana could only return it with desperate kisses. Echoing the fervor of a dying man drinking water, trying to grasp at life for as long as he can. Rather than the life, she gave herself to warmth, love, and desire. For while she had isolated her dear brother from herself and would have lost all will to live, these moments with Nimue filled her with hope. Hope to find herself again one day completely. To reconcile with her brother, who carries the weight of the world, and who had needed her unconditional love and loyalty most of all.

Because in these moments the true Morgana lived, with each kiss she was born anew once more, gasping for breath again after so long of drowning in the depths of her mind, being pushed aside by forces pushing her to become _the Witch_.

In these moments the true Morgana clawed her way back to existence and pushed for a balance in her mind, body, and soul.

For here she could become _Morgana the Good, Morgana the Advisor, and even Morgana the Wicked_.

Though she was wicked in other ways than the people of Britannia believed. Instead, in these moments, gasps were never of pain, complaints were never due to unjust actions, devotion was not unwarranted, and born out of fear. No, they were of pleasure, need, and love. Always. Under the moonlight, within the waters of Avalon, and with Nimue beside her, the Morgana of old lived again. And the Witch died, so she could breathe again freely. With Peace... peace, and love in her heart.


End file.
